


In which Pete thinks he's cool and Patrick actually is

by fakeoreos



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, But only a bit, Hannah Montana - Freeform, High School, Lindsey Ballato/Jamia Nestor - Freeform, M/M, Rock Star, What am I doing, although i may start it again one day, blink and you miss it - Freeform, help me, like one line seriously, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeoreos/pseuds/fakeoreos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Stump is a rock star. Patrick Stumph isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I might even be a rock star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smuthowell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuthowell/gifts).



> This is definitely not based off Hannah Montana. Not at all.
> 
> Dedicated to the amazing Georgie (smuthowell on here, twitter and instagram, howellatlester on tumblr), who loves Hannah Montana just as much as I do.

Pete Wentz was cool. Before him, the school football team had sucked. Before him, the entire school had been homophobic, but when Pete Wentz turned up, all eyeliner and making out with anything that moved, that changed. Pete Wentz was in a _band._ It wasn't a very _good_ band but Pete made it _look_ good. And when you’re in high school, looking good is all that really matters. So Pete Wentz was _cool._

 

Patrick Stumph was cooler, but no one was allowed to know that. Everyone knew that Patrick _Stump_ was cool, but as soon as you added an h, he became that pudgy loser who was too shy and lame to have friends. It was for his own good that he hid that he was famous, Patrick _knew_ that, but sometimes he wishes he didn't have to. Sometimes he wishes that someone would make the connection between Patrick Martin Stumph and Patrick Vaughn Stump, if only so he could whip out his guitar and show them that he _wasn’t_ that shy pudgy loser with no friends, he was that world famous, extremely talented, very attractive rock star. And that in comparison to him, Pete Wentz was fucking _lame._ But his mom had insisted that, in order for him to get a proper education, he had a stage name.

 

Never the less, when Pete ran into school practically _screaming_ that “Oh my god, oh my GOD! Guys! Guys! I got Patrick Stump tickets! Patrick motherfucking _stump_!” It made him very proud. And when Pete (and most of the rest of his class, actually) started squealing, his smugness level only increased. It made him almost glad that he could blend into the background, just watch people go mental over _him._ He was fucking _awesome._

 

See, as much as Patrick kind of hated (read: absolutely and completely despised) Pete, he was also kind of in love with him. Just a bit. And to see him freaking out about him like that, to see him babbling on about how he was “the most talented thing since the Misfits, I mean seriously fucking awesome!” put butterflies in his stomach and made a blush the size of Africa spread over his cheeks. Because Pete Wentz thought he was cool. Because Pete Wentz thought he was talented, and Pete Wentz, despite not being friends with Patrick, despite probably not even knowing Patrick was alive, was hot. And kind. He was far from perfect, but so was Patrick. In Patrick’s mind, that made them a match. But that was never going to happen. Because even if he was a Patrick Stump fan, he barely even knew Patrick Stumph existed.

 

Or so Patrick thought, apparently, because now Pete Wentz was walking over to Patrick Stumph, waving Patrick Stump tickets and calling his name and Patrick Stumph was having a hard time remembering to breathe. Since when did Pete know his name? Why was he calling it?

 

“Yo! Patrick!”

 

“Uh – um - n…yes?”

 

“How you doing buddy? What’s up?” Pete grinned, showing of two rows of perfect white teeth. “Life treating you well?”

 

“Um… yes? I- I guess so?”

 

“Good good. What're you doing this weekend?”

 

That weekend, Patrick had a show. He knew that, but Pete Wentz was standing right next to him and Pete Wentz knew his _name._ So you couldn't really blame him when he stuttered:

 

“N - nothing. I – um - why?”

 

“Well I got these tickets, you see. Patrick _Stump_ tickets. And I was wondering if you'd like to use one of them? Go with me?”

 

Shit. He couldn't, he knew that. Because he _was_ Patrick Stump. Pete couldn't know that.

 

“I – uh - wouldn't you - aren't you taking someone else? Ashlee or Joe or someone?”

 

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please –

 

“Nope! I’m taking _you._ You see, Ash and Joe, god knows why, aren't really _in_ to Patrick Stump. And, well, I’ve seen you wearing one of the tour shirts a couple of times? You seem pretty good at music too, from what I've heard in lessons.”

 

“What about one of the others? They seem pretty keen. We're pretty much strangers, wouldn't you prefer to go with one of them?”

 

Pete looked offended. “I’m just as much friends with you as I am with them. How many of them have you ever seen me hold a proper conversation with? Really? One on one?”

 

“I - uh – “

 

“You sure are eager to get rid of me, huh?” Pete didn’t look offended anymore. He just looked sad. That was worse, Patrick decided. Definitely worse. He needed to come up with a non-offensive reason that he could not go to the concert with Pete, and quick.

 

“I – uh, it’s just that – well you see…”

 

“Yes?” asked Pete, looking sceptical.

 

“IhavetogotochurchwithmyfamilyandthereisabsolutelynowayIcangetoutofitatallever.” Patrick lied, all in one breath.

 

“You what?”

 

“I have to go to church with my family. I’m not religious; it’s just my mom gets mad if I don’t go.”

 

“Oh! Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“I just did.”

 

“No, smartass,” Pete laughed, all tension gone, “before, when I first asked. Why’d you say you weren’t doing anything? ”

 

“Well I didn't know you were going to ask me to do anything and I didn’t want you to think I was lame for just giving in to my mother’s whim like that.” Patrick impressed himself with his lying skill. He was one smooth motherfucker. One smooth, dishonest motherfucker.

 

“No, I totally get it, moms are scary,” laughed Pete. “You totally sure there’s no way you could skip?”

 

“Totally. Sorry dude, my mom would go ballistic.”

 

“S’okay. Maybe some other time? I mean it won’t exactly be easy to get more Patrick Stump tickets, but, uh…” He trailed off, looking nervous.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Well – uh – maybe something else? Like – only if you want to, I'd totally get it if you don't but, like, you seem really cool and I'd love to get to know you better?”

 

“Of course!” grinned Patrick, making a mental note to ask his manager when his next tour free weekend was.

 

“I mean, like, it doesn’t have to be a date or anything, unless, like, you want it to be? I – whatever you’re comfortable with.”

 

“Dude, I already said yes! Go find someone to go to the concert with you!”

 

“I – er – Okay!”

 

 _Well,_ thought Patrick. _That was weird._


	2. Can't you see? We're meant to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun drinking game: Drink every time I use the word "shit" in this chapter.

It was Sunday the 18th. The 18th of what, Patrick couldn’t remember exactly, he had never been very good at dates; the only reason he could remember that it was the 18th was that he had the tour dates poster stapled to his dressing room door and he ticked them off one by one. The poster did not, however, have the month on it, which Patrick thought was stupid. How was he supposed to remember which month it was if they didn’t put it on the poster? He knew it was either June or July. He stuck his head out the window. Not hot enough for July. June then. He grinned. June 18th.

 

Shit. Pete was coming this weekend. He knew that Pete was coming. Pete had only fucking _asked him out_ at the start of the week. Sort of. He had mentioned the word date and in Patrick’s opinion, that counted as asking him out. Not that Patrick Stump didn’t get asked out on a pretty much hourly basis, but Patrick Stumph _never_ got asked out _ever_ and definitely not by _Pete Wentz._ He grinned again. And then threw up. Well, he didn’t actually throw up, but he felt like he _could_ if he _tried._ He wasn’t going to but. Well. Pete Wentz was coming to his concert. What if he didn’t like it? What if he _recognised him?_ What if he came to the signing? Surely he’d recognise him up close?

 

“Patrick! 10 minutes!”

 

“Okay, Thanks.”

 

Well, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He would just have to apply his stuff and get out there. Okay. Hair dye. He pulled a spray carton of non-permanent blonde hair dye out of his bag and began spraying it through his quiff. He had to look good today, because he had to look unlike Patrick Stumph and Patrick Stumph was _not_ attractive. **(a/n: yes he was)** Right. Next. Suit. He loved his suit; it was what really made him look good, putting away all that ungainly “fat” which actually just came from him wearing lots of layers and putting the tightest ones on top. Today’s suit was grey with a sort of metallic green tie and a grey plaid shirt. He was ready to go.

 

“Five minutes!”

 

“Coming!”

 

He unlocked his door and ducked under the security guard’s arm as he ran for the stage, his face almost entirely grin. He loved this, this high he got from performing, from sharing his music, his art.

 

“Patrick! Through here!” His mum. Okay in –

 

“5!”

 

He was under the stage.

 

“4!”

 

He could see the platform.

 

“3!”

 

He was within, like, 5 feet of it.

 

“2!”

 

He was on it.

 

“1!”

 

It was rising.

 

He could here the screams when he was _under_ the stage, but now he was coming up they were practically all he could hear. He loved playing Chicago, his home town. In his opinion, they were the most enthusiastic.

 

“Hello Chicago!” Screams. “You ready to rock?” More screams.

 

“Okay guys! So I wrote this song about my home.” A roar went up from the crowd and he continued. “I wrote this song about my home and my home, you see, just happens to be Chicago!” He waited for the screams to die down before adding. “This song is called ‘This City’!”

 

_This city is my city_

_And I love it, yeah I love it_

_I was born and raised here_

_I got it made here_

_And if I have my way, I’m gonna stay-_

And so continued the night; Patrick speaking, the crowd screaming, Patrick singing. More screaming. At one point he got a kid up to play the tambourine and the kid told Patrick he was her hero and Patrick nearly cried, even though he should've been used to it by then. Then the night ended after Patrick’s encore of _X Heart, X Fingers_ and he went off to even more screams. All in all, a good night.

 

That was until, before entering his dressing room, he was stopped by the security guard. Ray, it said on his tag.

 

“There’s a fan in there. I honestly don’t know how they get in. Do you want me to get him out?”

 

“No, it’s fine, I’ll deal with him. I don’t understand how they do it either.”

 

Actually, Patrick knew exactly how they got in. There was always a small window in his dressing room and, if you had a friend to hoist you up, it was easy enough to get in. He had used to the same method in reverse plenty of times to get away from his manager, but he loved talking to fans and he didn’t want to tip anyone off as to his escape route, so he kept it secret.

 

He opened the door.

 

“Oh hey, I’m really sorry I snuck in and all that and - uh – thanks for not, like setting the guard on me or anything, y’know, it’s just, like I’m a really big fan and, um, I just wanted to ask some stuff, about, like, your music. Because, y’know, I’m in a band -  Arma Angelus – I don’t know if you’ve heard of us – you, like, you probably haven’t, we’re not very big or like, good so um… yeah. Please don’t throw me out? Like, yet?”

 

Shit. Pete. What was he going to do? He still had his stage stuff on so he wasn’t Patrick Stumph but there was still a chance that Pete would recognise him up close. He was just going to have to chance it, maybe lower his voice slightly.

 

Pete started talking again. “Um- are you okay? I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I can go.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Patrick replied, sounding gruff. “Oh, and I’ve heard of your band. You’re not that bad, just a little raw.”

 

“R-really? You think so? You – um. Wow.”

 

“Mhm” Patrick had decide the key was to speak as little as possible and get Pete out quickly.

 

“You…um. Oh! My friend – well at least I think he’s my friend – I hope he is – um he has like, almost the same name as you.”

 

 

“Really? What’s his name?”

 

“Patrick Stumph, but like with a H. And I think his middle name starts with like an M or something. It might have been an N, I can’t remember.

 

“Oh that’s cool. Martin is an okay name, I guess.”

 

“What?”

 

Wait. Oh fuck, he just said it was Martin. He is in such deep shit right now. His mom is going to hate him.

 

“I – uh – I mean… it – it might have been Martin? That’s the only name I can think of beginning with M.”

 

“No but like… you were right. That was his middle name. How did you know that?”

 

“I – I thought you said you didn’t know my – his middle name?”

 

“I said I couldn’t remember. You reminded me.”

 

“Well – uh…. That sure was a lucky guess?” he tried, but it came out as more of a question than a statement. Shit.

 

“No it –“ suddenly, Pete stopped. “Patrick. Stump. Stumph. Stump. Stumph. Shit.” He lifted his hand up to Patrick’s fedora.

 

“Wait no I – “ and then Pete’s hand was over his mouth. Patrick could feel the blood run up to his face and across his cheeks. His mom was _really_ going to kill him now.

 

“Holy shit.” Pete had lifted the fedora off Patricks head like it was a cloaking spell, suddenly revealing his true identity. “You’re – You’re Patrick Stumph.”

 

“No shit.”

 

“No but. You’re Patrick Stumph. With a H. And you’re – you’re also Patrick… Patrick Stump. With no H. And Millions of screaming fans and you – oh. So that’s why you couldn’t come to the – to the concert with me.”

 

“Yeah,” answered Patrick, laughing bitterly, “there would have been no one to perform.”

 

“But why – why didn’t you just tell me?” Pete sounded hurt.

 

Patrick sighed. “Because you would have treated me differently. You would have started babbling, like you did when I first came in. You would have told people. My mom wants me to have an education and I can’t have that if people are constantly asking me to sign their boobs or some shit. Like you said, moms are scary.”

 

“Yeah,” laughed Pete, sounding nervous, if a little less hurt. “They are. But I did the babbling thing with H Patrick too, if you didn’t notice. When I was – um,” Pete blushed and looked down. “When I was asking you out.”

 

“You did? I didn’t notice. Guess I was too busy remembering how to breathe.” Patrick laughed. “And, y’know, trying to get out of going to my own concert with out offending you too much.”

 

“You – um.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I never really expected you to accept, y’know? When I asked you to the concert, and especially when I asked if you wanted to do something else. You seemed to kind of hate me.”

 

“Looks can be deceiving. I’m not very confident in H Patrick mode. I just don’t talk to people much.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Suddenly, Patrick remembered what Pete had just found out.

 

“You won’t tell anyone, right?”

 

“What, that you don’t talk to people much? I think they probably already know that.” Pete teased.

 

“No, about Patrick-With-No-H.”

 

“I- why not? I don’t think it would ruin your education. Patrick-With-A-H is pretty uncool. No offense but it could totally make you way more popular.”

 

“I don’t want to be popular. There’s this thing called jealousy Pete. When I’m on stage, with all that support. I can forget the mean people **(a/n: and da haters gonna hate hate hate)** but at school, I’d never get away from it.”

 

“I - oh. Okay. But they’re stupid not to see what an awesome little dude you are anyway.”

 

“Not so much,” Patrick laughed. “You should probably go, my mom’s coming in any minute. And please don’t tell anyone.”

 

“Oh” Pete sounded disappointed. “I-uh-I won’t. I’ll just, um, go, then?”

 

“Yeah.” Patrick told him. Pete started to leave. “Oh, and Pete?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“We’re still on for that date, right?”

 

Pete grinned, big and enthusiastic. Patrick didn’t know it was possible for someone to grin that big.

 

“Yeah!” said Pete, head moving up and down so fast, Patrick was surprised it didn’t fall off. “Very much so!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the news this week: Georgie got an Ao3 acc (smuthowell), I got most of my hair shaved off and I wrote this chapter in a purple top hat.


	3. Way too smart to be waiting around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo so I was probably shit at keeping the tense correct in this, pls comment where I did anything wrong!

**Pete’s POV**

 

“Hey Joe!”

“Yeah dude?”

I winced. “You still wanna come to that concert?”

“He turn you down?”

“No, I suddenly decided that I completely hate the ridiculously cute dude that I have been crushing on for, hmm, about 3 months?” I tried to make the sarcasm as evident in my voice as I possibly could, but Joe was, apparently, as oblivious(-ly high) as always.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Dude, _yes_ , heturned me down. Fuck are you like, immune to sarcasm or something?”

“Eh?” Fuck him.

“Fuck you. I’m gonna go talk to Ashlee.”

“Whatever.”

 

Joe was a great friend when he _wasn’t_ high, but that was roughly, I dunno, 1% of the time? Maybe 1.5, if we’re counting when he’s asleep. Otherwise you had to literally prod him with a stick to get a reaction out of him. Ashlee and I had this stick that we had sandpapered down at the end so it didn’t hurt him that we used to get his attention. We had brought it in to school once but they thought we were beating him up and we got an entire week in detention.

 

“Yo Ash! Sup?”

Ashlee was, as usual, with Meagan, Jamia and LynZ.

“Meagan, Lynz, Jamia.”

Ashlee grinned up at me. “So, how’d it go?”

“I was, er, actually wondering if you’d like to go to a Patrick Stump concert with me?”

Meagan pouted sarcastically up at me, fluttering her eyelashes in an the most mocking, over dramatic way she could. “Aw, did the great Pete Wentz get turned down?”

“Fuck you, yes I got turned down. He has ‘church.’” I put air quotes around the word church with my fingers. Like fuck did he go to church, I’d met his brother. Not really Christian family material. He could just have told me if he didn’t like me. Actually…

“Anyway, he agreed to go do something else. Maybe he just doesn’t like concerts or something. So fuck you.”

 

Meagan laughed. Bitch. I love her, seriously, but bitch.

“I’d love to – seriously, Patrick Stump is fu-“ I clamped my hand over her mouth before she could continue with that sentence. Fuck, that was close. Patrick had fucking turned me down. He couldn’t know I had lied to get him to come, Jesus Christ.

“Don’t you dare say anything good about Patrick Stump.” I hissed.

“Mm frt yu – get off me, idiot – I thought you liked him?”

“I do but, like, I told Patrick the reason you weren’t coming was you didn’t like Patrick Stump.”

“Oh!, I genuinely can’t come, actually. Dad’s visiting.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Ashlee’s parents weren’t split up, her dad was in the navy and so constantly away, his visits were probably the one thing she’d never skipped. Alright then. Who to ask next?

 

“I-,” Suddenly, an idea hit me. “Um, Jamia?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re pretty strong right?”

“Stronger than you, yeah.”

“Fuck you. How long d’you reckon you could hold me up for?

“Um, like 5 minutes, at a push. Why?”

“Would you like to come to a Patrick Stump concert with me?”

“Yes. What the fuck does that have to do with my strength though?”

“Everything. Here’s your ticket.”

This was gonna be _awesome._

 

* * *

 

 

The concert was, as predicted, fucking amazing. Patrick Stump was fucking amazing. It would have been even better if his (almost) namesake had been able to come but whatever. Or, y’know, not whatever; I really whish Patrick had been able to come, but no such luck. Jamia was still awesome though. Fuck it, when _wasn’t_ Jamia awesome. If you looked awesome up in the dictionary it probably just said:

 

> awesome (ˈɔːs(ə)m/) _adjective_ **see Jamia Nestor**

****

However, what was going to be more ‘Jamia Nestor’ was what we were going to do next. I had talked it over on the way there with Jamia who, at first, had had some objections on, uh, _legal_ grounds, but was soon talked into it. We were going to meet Patrick Stump. Or, I was. Jamia wasn’t as big a fan, didn’t want to get arrested and also we weren’t sure if I was strong enough to pull her up after me. So I was going to meet Patrick. Alone. Oh well.

 

As we walked around the venue to the little window into the dressing room I had managed to find in the building plan, Jamia continued to try and persuade me not to.

“You’re gonna get arrested.”

“No I’m not.”

“He’ll call security.”

“No he won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“People have done it before.”

“They were probably making it up.”

“He’s said himself that it happens, and he talks to the people who do it. “If they’ve made the effort, god knows why, they should get what they came for,” I think were his exact words.”

“Um… what if he doesn’t live up to your expectations?”

“He will.”

“Oh well,” she sighed as we came to the window and began climbing her. “Good lu- mmf”

“Oh shit sorry!”

“Gwet wor pfoot wout wov moi mwoup.”

“What?” I laughed, pulling my foot out of her mouth. She tried to look angry but ended up joining in my quiet giggles.

“I said get your foot out of my mouth.” She grinned up at me on the window ledge and gave my foot a light shove. “Go meet your idol, douchebag.”

“Will do. Thank you.”

“This isn’t fucking Romeo and Jamia. Get your ass in there; I need to go wash my mouth out with soap.”

“Fuck you, I’m going.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m gay as fuck for LynZ, you know that.”

I laughed a little “whatever,” before slipping through the window. Let’s find out what this Stump dude’s like in person.

 

Just as I plopped into the room, the door opened. Shit. A security guard. With a fucking _awesome_ fro. Wow.

“Um, I..”

“Here to see Patrick?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“He’ll be back in a minute. It’s his call, but I reckon he’ll let you stay.”

“You… uh…”

“Dude, I’m like 2 or 3 years older than you, 5 at most. I’ve done shit like this loads of times. Still do, actually.”

“Oh, cool.”

“One thing still bothers me though.”

“Yeah?”

“How the fuck do you guys get in here?” I thought it was pretty obvious actually. He’d be better working it out for himself.

“Not telling.”

“Whatever. Stay here; wait ‘til Patrick comes.”

“You’re the boss.”

 

A couple of minutes later, I could hear muffled words outside. That must be Patrick, holy shit! What was I going to say? Um, just don’t freak out or like, waffle. Okay, I can do this.

 

The door opened.

 

“Oh hey, I’m really sorry I snuck in and all that and - uh – thanks for not, like setting the guard on me or anything, y’know, it’s just, like I’m a really big fan and, um, I just wanted to ask some stuff, about, like, your music. Because, y’know, I’m in a band -  Arma Angelus – I don’t know if you’ve heard of us – you, like, you probably haven’t, we’re not very big or like, good so um… yeah. Please don’t throw me out? Like, yet?”

 

**You know what happens in Pete and Patrick’s conversation after this. Like fuck am I writing that again, that conversation was the bane of my life. I love you guys and all, but no. So just skip till Pete leaves.**

 

* * *

 

 

I sighed dreamily as I walked out of Patrick’s room. There was a massive, stupid grin on my face, I knew there was, but I honestly couldn’t care less. I knew I should probably be more upset about the fact Patrick lied to be, and I knew I would be later, but right now I was in heaven. My real life crush and my stupid celebrity crush, the same person! And he had agreed to go on a date with me. And he didn’t hate me either.

“It went well then?” Fro guy.

“You have no idea.”

“Good for you.” Well, if it wasn’t for fro guy I would probably have been kicked out.

“I love you, you know that?”

“Um, thanks?”

“You are the sunshine in my life, the flower of my existence.  The Pepperoni pizza among the garlic bread.”

“That’s uh, great?”

“The icing on my cake, the fedora on my Patrick, a diamond among the coal, gold among steel, the cute little toy thing to my kinder egg **(a/n: do the states have kinder eggs? idk)**  the stripper upon the pole, the chocolate among all the candies, the apple of my eye!”

“Let’s get you out of here, eh, kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, my lovely little children! Pls comment stuff, the next chapter will probably be a fluffy, awkward first date scene for you guys, but after that it might get more angsty. (I'm shit at writing angst, we'll see.) I'll try to update like twice a week at least.
> 
> Also, please leave suggestions for more compliments for Ray, the best ones will get a little shoutout in the next chapter (and I might edit them in in underline in this chapter or something)


	4. In some ways you're just like all your friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while! (Technically I'm still within time limit. Just.) It's like twice as long to make up for it.

Patrick was totally not hyperventilating. Not at all. He was just out of breath. From walking. From the school to his bus. 2 hours ago. Okay, so maybe he was a little nervous. But that’s normal for a first date, right?

 

The reason he was panicking, he supposed, was Pete. It was all Pete’s fault. Pete _fucking_ Wentz, with his stupid _fucking_ face and those stupid _fucking_ chocolate eyes with the caramel edges, like those Cadbury Eclairs things his mum liked. But what, in Patrick’s opinion, was the most stupid, was Pete asking _him_ out on a date. Asking out Patrick _Stump,_ he could get; he wasn’t stupid, he knew that even if he wasn’t exactly a model **(a/n: he may as well be jfc)** , he was at least fairly attractive. But what the hell was he doing asking out Patrick _Stumph_?Was it some kind of joke? But he had been all nervous and stuff talking about Patrick With An H in front of Patrick With No H, so maybe he was serious? Patrick was self aware enough to know that PWNH was date worthy, but pete had asked PWAH out before he knew they were… Oh well, first things first, which one was he even going to go as? PWAH was the one that had been asked out, but PWNH was more attractive. Maybe a mix of the two? Yeah.

 

In the end, he decided to go without any of the extra “fat” layers he wore to school, but not to dye his hair, either. He donned a fedora rather than the usual trucker cap he wore to school and checked the clock. He had an hour until Pete picked him up. Oops. He sat down and began to wait.

 

 

* * *

 

**// time skip back to the beginning of the day if im not clear enough through the actual writing //**

 

Pete was nervous. He was ecstatic, still shaking from last night’s adrenaline, but nervous. He was going to see Patrick again today. And Pete had a plan. It had fucking _bullet points_ and everything. _That’s right Patrick_ he thought, _you’ve driven me to bullet points._ The plan was called “How to make Patrick fall in love with you, a guide by Pete Wentz,” although on the paper it actually said “How to make Patrick ~~Stumph~~ ~~Stump~~ ~~Stumph~~ ~~Stump/h~~ fall in love with you, a guide by Pete Wentz.” It went like this:

 

 

> How to make Patrick  ~~Stumph~~   ~~Stump~~   ~~Stumph~~   ~~Stump/h~~  fall in love with you, a guide by Pete Wentz
> 
>   1. Do not tell _anyone_ about his dual person thing.
>   2. Be on your very, very, very, very best behaviour.
>   3. Be super uber charming as much as possible.
>   4. Pet names?
>   5. Flattery
>   6. Allure
> 


 

He had sent the list, excluding the first point, to Joe, Ash, LynZ, Jamia and Meagan over IM and told them to add points. What he got back was this:

  1. Be on your very, very, very, very best behaviour.
  2. Be super uber charming as much as possible.
  3. Pet names? – **NO**
  4. Flattery
  5. Allure
  6. Pete, I've seen what you call charming, you're gonna scare him off
  7. and wtf is “allure”
  8. Is that some kind of drug? Can you get drugs to make people fall in love? You could try drugging him!
  9. Drugs
  10. Joe, no drugs. We are not drugging Patrick.
  11. What about a bit of weed, just to loosen him up?
  12. ffs jo NO DRGS JFC
  13. Meagan could you _please_ use some vowels?
  14. N
  15. We could try leprosy?
  16. Shit I mean ecstasy not leprosy fucking autocorrect
  17. NO DRUGS!!1!!!11!!!!!



So that wasn't much help. But that didn't stop him from practically skipping to school the next day, looking forward to introducing Patrick to his friends. Even realising he had arrived to school 20 minutes early and the gates hadn’t even opened yet didn’t dampen his spirits.

 

After spending 20 minutes nervously bouncing up and down on the tips of his toes, Pete saw Patrick walking towards him. Well, towards the school gates, but he was _at_ the school gates, so it still counted.

 

“Pattycakes!” He called, ignoring his friends’ only clear advice as he swung his arm around Patrick, making him jump and nearly knocking his hat off in the process.

“Um. Pete.” Patrick squeaked, struggling slightly in Pete’s grasp before eventually giving up. “What’re you doing here?”

“I wanna introduce you to my friends, Patty, is that okay?”

“Um.” Patrick’s voice was still a little high. “I Guess? Are you sure they’ll like me?”

“How could they not? You’re perfect!” Patrick went bright red, and okay, maybe Pete was coming on a little strong, but it was worth it to see the cute little shy smile that followed the blush.

“I’m really not,” came a whisper, and then a sudden, panicked “you haven’t told them, have you?”

“ _No_ , Patrick, I promise I haven’t told them, I’m on my very best behaviour, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, lets go meet the guys! Or, um guy. And girls.”

 

They began to walk through the gates and towards the only tree in the entire school, affectionately named Andy. Sitting underneath Andy were Meagan, Ashley and a very stoned looking Joe.

“Hey guys! Where’re Jamia and LynZ?”

“Off making out in a closet somewhere, I don’t know.” Ashlee replied, looking up from painting her nails a particularly sickly green. “Oh, hey Patrick!”

“Hey. You know my name.”

“Of course she knows your name! Pete talks about you constantly!” They turned around to see a rather dishevelled Jamia coming up to them, hand in hand with LynZ. “You were almost the reason I didn’t get to go to a concert!”

“I thought you said your friends didn’t like m- Patrick Stump?”

“He’s great! Pete was just desperate to convince you to go with him.”

“ _Jamia!_ I promise I’m not creepy Patr-“ Pete stopped when he saw Patrick, who was definitely _not_ creeped out, doubled over with laughter, and grinned. Patrick was gonna fit in just fine, if he made a habit of this laughing at Pete thing. It seemed to be the full time occupation of all his friends.

 

The day continued that way, with Pete eagerly arranging their date for that evening with a blushing Patrick at lunch.

“So I’ll pick you up at 7, right? Do you have a curfew? Not that you’ll be staying over. Unless you want to of course?”

Patrick had, of course, agreed and told Pete that no, he didn’t have a curfew but, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stay over.

 

And now it was half an hour until he had to go and pick Patrick up. He was nervously applying what must be, what? His 5th coat of eyeliner, trying to pass the time.

25 minutes.

20 minutes.

15 minutes.

10 minutes.

It wouldn’t matter if he was a couple of minutes early, right? He picked up a bright purple hoodie and pulled it on over his misfits shirt. Patrick liked the misfits, right? Oh well, too late now. He grabbed his mum’s car keys, got in the car and set off. He was taking Patrick to this little diner in town where he knew like, half the waiters. He had this sorted, he thought, as he got out of the car and began to walk up to Patrick’s door. He stood there in a daze for a few minutes before finally working up the courage to knock. Patrick’s mom answered.

“Hello there dear.” She looked slightly perturbed by the tattoo peeking out of Pete’s sleeve. “You must be Pete. Patrick’s just in his room; I’ll call him down for you shall I?”

“Um, yes, please.”

“Patrick! Pete’s here!”

“Okay mom! One second!”

“So… what do you intend to do in college?”

“Um… I’m uh, well, I’m in a band, but if that doesn’t work out then...” Pete tried to think of something mom’s found acceptable. “Poli Sci?”

“Oh, well. Good.”

“Um… hey.”

“Hey Patr-“ Patrick looked amazing. His hair was natural, poofing up slightly from under his fedora. He was wearing a bowie shirt underneath a greyish silver suit jacket that he somehow managed to make look casual. He was in sinfully tight black skinny jeans and Pete had to use every ounce of self control he had to stop himself jumping on Patrick there and then. “-rick. Wow, Pattycakes, you look amazing.” Amazing was an understatement. “Shall we, uh, go then?”

“You look great too Pete,” he smiled sheepishly. “and yeah. Bye mom!”

“Bye Patrick. Have a good time.”

“I will mom.”

 

“So.”

“So.”

“You like the misfits then?”

And from there the conversation just flowed until they got out of the car, ranging from music taste to how Patrick made music to how in love Pete was with Tim Burton movies. They arrived at the diner at around half seven and got out of the car. As they walked through the parking lot Pete tried to work up the courage to take Patrick’s hand. _Come on, Wentz, it’s just a hand. What happened to overly tactile lovable idiot huh?_ But, just as he began to talk himself into it, Patrick Beat him to it. Since when was Patrick so confident. Whatever, it didn’t matter, they were holding hands now and Pete could feel little sparks zinging up his arm as a massive grin broke out on his face.

“Hey, Spence!” He called to the bearded guy manning the door as they entered. “Long time no see!”

“Not long enough. Who’s this?” He asked pointing tactlessly right in Patrick’s face.

“This is Patrick. He’s perfect” Pete declared. “Where do we sit?”

“Table for two?”

“Duh.”

“There’s a booth at the back. Don’t stain it.” Spencer deadpanned.

“Fuck you. I’ll make sure Jon never talks to you again.”

“That’d be pretty hard.” Another waiter came up behind Spencer and kissed him on the cheek, making him blush.

“Wait, so you guys actually got together? Finally? I don’t have to listen to Spencer droning on about how perfect Jon is every time I see him?”

“Yup!” Grinned Spencer. “Go sit down.”

“With pleasure!” He grabbed Patrick’s hand again and led him down to the booth. Another waiter came up to them.

“Hey! I’m Brendon and I’ll be your server today, what would you like to order?” The words all seemed to come out in one breath, like the waiter was in a hurry to say them.

“I know who you are, Brendon. And we’ll have – do you like pizza Patrick? Ryan’s – that’s the chef – his pizza is to _die_ for.”

“Yeah, I like pizza,” mumbled Patrick.

“Great! We’ll have one extra super ultra large four cheese pizza, with extra cheese.”

“You realise we don’t actually _do_ extra super ultra large right, Pete?”

“Whatever. Tell Ryan I’ll pay him back. Use your womanly charm, or something.”

“I do _not_ have _womanly charm!_ ” squealed Brendon.

“Fine then. If you don’t get it, I’ll tell Ryan you like him.”

“You _wouldn’t._ ”

“Would too.”

“ _Fine._ You owe me, _Wentz”_

“Whatever, Ross.”

“That is _not_ my name!”

“You wish it was.” Suddenly, Brendon deflated.

“Not denying it.” He sighed, and swooped dramatically back into the kitchen, a mournful look on his face.

“Is _everyone_ here in love?” asked Patrick.

“It’s hard to tell with Ryan, he has like 3 facial expressions, bored, mildly amused and fashionable. But probably”

“Is fashionable even a facial expression?”

“It is on Ryan.”

Patrick laughed. They talked for a few minutes until their pizza arrived.

“With compliments of the chef,” Brendon hissed as he laid it on their table. After that they were too busy eating to talk much. Well, Pete was busy eating and Patrick was busy watching him, occasionally taking bites out of the large piece of pizza hanging limply from his right hand.

 

When the pizza was finished, Pete leant back in his seat and they just looked at each other for a few minutes before he spoke.

“I really like you, you know.”

“I, um, I really like you too, Pete.”

“You do? Like really? Cause, y’know, it’s alright if you don’t.”

“Really! You’re like, really cool and stuff. You like really good music and stuff!”

“Well, Oh! Brendon.”

“Yes, _Pete?_ ”

“Could we have the bill, please?”

“Of _course,_ Pete.”

“Aw, don’t be angry at me, Bden. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know Pete. It’s just… ugh… _Ryan_. Anyway, I don’t want to ruin your date with my lack of one. Go sex each other up.”

“Hey! _First_ date.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t put out on the first date.”

“I _don’t!_ ”

Pete turned back to Patrick, Red cheeked. “Want to get out of here?”

“That depends. Are you going to ‘sex me up?’”

“Not unless you want me to.”

“I think we’ll save that for the second date.” Patrick giggled. Fucking _giggled._ How cute was that?

“There’s going to be another one?”

“I thought we already established that. Y’know, ‘I really, really like you’ and all that shit.”

“Oh! Yeah. Um. Let’s go then.”

“Indeed.”

 

Pete paid, after a fairly short argument, ended by Brendon’s complaint that they were ‘taking up his fucking space, get out of here already!’ and they rode back to Patrick’s house.

“Um. I’ll go then.”

“No! I, um, I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Okay. Thanks”

They got out and Pete grabbed Patrick’s hand as they arrived at the door. He spun Patrick around to face him on his doorstep.

“I had a really good time tonight.”

“Me too,” breathed Patrick, and all of a sudden Pete realised what was about to happen, and laughed.

“This is like a sappy teen movie.”

“You know what comes next then.”

Pete leaned in, eyes closed, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Patrick’s lips, gasping slightly at the sensation. There were no fireworks, but what there was, was better. There was Patrick. And Patrick’s lips, moving lightly against his own, taking his breath away.

“My mom’s pwobly wutching.”

Pete laughed gently, still a little breathless, and pulled back.

“Well,” he said, pulling a pen out of his pocket. “I’d better give you this then.” And he pulled out Patrick’s arm to write his number on it.

“Call me. I’m, like, always awake, so don’t worry about disturbing me.”

“Okay,” whispered Patrick, and then he was gone, in his door. Pete went back to his mom’s car and sank down in his seat.

 

He was so fucked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had pretty odd on repeat the whole time I was writing it (2-3 hours? Idk I was really restless I couldn't stay sitting down more than like 10 mins.) so that's why there's a lot of Brendon.

**Author's Note:**

> I try and update like twice a week. Pls comment and stuff!


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